


Easy, In the End

by muse_in_absentia



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: CPGradTFLN, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_in_absentia/pseuds/muse_in_absentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graduation makes Jack think, and panic, and then think some more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy, In the End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the CPGradTFLN Fest thing.
> 
> TFLN: (608) - I'm just gonna put on a documentary and throw up.  
> I had grand plans of using a lot of these, because there were so many that were appropriate, but it sort of got away from me, and that didn't happen.
> 
> Un-beta'd because my poor beta already has her hands full with my long piece and I just didn't feel the need to do that to her. Please feel free to yell at me for any mistakes you find. :)

Jack wasn’t sure when the idea of a graduation party for him and Shitty during reading week became a full on kegster, but looking back on it he was fairly sure that he should have known better than to let Ransom and Holster plan it by themselves. The sheer amount of alcohol that had appeared on the front porch of the Haus that afternoon had been slightly alarming, but Bittle had smiled at him from the kitchen counter where he was rolling out another pie crust, all flustered and excited and he had forgotten why he should be protesting this. 

That, however, had been nearly ten hours ago, and the noise level coming from downstairs was making his teeth rattle. Bittle had disappeared soon after Holster had introduced him to some English major with melted chocolate eyes and Jack was hiding in his room remembering why he should have been protesting this. 

He kind of wanted to just sneak out down to the pond with Shitty and his camera as a way of celebrating, but he knew that Shitty would be downstairs, stoned and working on getting blackout drunk. He wasn’t even sure he could blame him with Harvard looming in the distance like some sort of thundercloud of responsibility and adulthood that none of them really seemed ready to face. There were definitely times Jack wished he had a way to shut his brain off like that. Those were usually the days that he spent a couple extra hours skating himself past the point of exhaustion so he would collapse before his brain had time to start spinning again. 

Like it was now. 

He didn’t know for sure that Bittle had disappeared with the English major, whose name he intentionally didn’t learn, and he didn’t really want to know if he had. That didn’t stop his brain from conjuring up all sorts of images of what they might be up to right now, however, making his chest constrict in painful ways. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t know it was his own fault, that he had no claim on Bittle, and couldn’t if he never said anything. But every time he managed to get Bittle alone to try and bring it up Bittle either got all sad and quiet and Jack felt the need to try and cheer him up, or he started babbling the way he used to when he was just a frog. Jack wasn’t sure what it meant that Bittle still acted so nervous around him, but his breathing threatened to speed up past his control every time he thought about it too hard. So he tried not to think about it. 

The sound of his knuckles cracking as he tightened his fingers in his comforter was loud in his ears as Jack forced himself to breathe, slowly and deliberately. His chest was tight, his lungs feeling like they were being squeezed, and his head was pulsing. The next step would be the tremors, and if he didn’t calm himself down before that he was going to have to interrupt Shitty’s party whether he wanted to or not. Slowly he pried his fingers off the soft cotton he was sitting on and ran a shaking hand through his hair. 

He considered, briefly, the idea of slipping out and heading to Faber just to settle his brain, but there was no feasible way for him to get out of the Haus without getting stopped at the party and that was the last thing he needed right now. 

There was a loud thud from across the hall and Jack felt the bile burning at the back of his throat. It was a struggle to not storm across the hall and throw the pretty English major out of the building by the scruff of his neck. The only thing that stopped him was having to explain it to Bittle afterwards, which he didn’t think he could do.

Instead, he quietly called up his favorite WWII documentary on his laptop and turned the volume up as loud as he could stand. Something familiar was what he needed right now to try and stop himself from imagining just what was going on across the hall. 

Barely two minutes in and he was just starting to breathe normally again, when his window creaked open slowly, and Shitty stuck his head in. 

“Don’t you have any better documentaries?” he asked by way of greeting. “Or at least ones you haven’t fucking memorized yet,” he added as he climbed through the window and settled himself in on Jack’s bed.

Jack shrugged. “I like this one.”

“See, I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate, bro,” Shitty said, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulders, forcing Jack to slouch down a little. “I think this is more like your security blanket. Which would make you Linus to my Charlie Brown.”

“I think Bittle might get to be Charlie Brown, Shits, sorry,” Jack snorted, the tension easing from his shoulders in slow waves.

Shitty shrugged. “That’s okay, dude. I don’t mind being Snoopy. And you got a pop-culture reference. Where’s Bits when he needs to see something.”

The urge to laugh at Shitty’s stoned attempt at language was warring with the desire to drown out all thoughts of Bittle off somewhere with someone that wasn’t him. Instead he shrugged, feeling the tension creeping back in already. “Who doesn’t get Charlie Brown, eh? And does that mean Lardo is Lucy?”

Shitty was shirtless and warm against Jack’s side. “I think Lardo could give Lucy a run for her money, but nah, bro, Lardo is Woodstock. Mostly quiet, and tiny enough to perch on my shoulders.”

This was why Jack loved Shitty. He didn’t ask why Jack was in his room during a party that was, at least in part, for him. He didn’t point out the obvious tension coursing through Jack’s muscles, or ask if he could help. He just kept up a light chatter while Jack settled back into his own body, the speed of his brain not vibrating him out of his own bones anymore.

Slowly, Jack let out a long, slow breath, and Shitty dropped his arm from around him.

“Feeling a little better?” Shitty asked.

Jack nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. “I don’t know,” he said, finally, shrugging and turning the volume down on his documentary. Shitty was right, he didn’t actually need to hear it anymore. Mostly he was using it to drown out any noises coming from Bittle’s room that he couldn’t bring himself to have to hear.

Before he could elaborate, however, Lardo stuck her head in through his window. “There you are!” she exclaimed, climbing in.

Jack hoped Shitty would explain away why Jack needed to be closeted in his room for this party without him needing to say anything. Lardo usually got it, but sometimes words were hard.

It didn’t seem to be necessary, however, when Lardo poked Shitty hard in the side. “You left with my weed, bro.”

Shitty laughed, and pulled a small bag out of his shorts pocket. “It was a ploy to make you come fuckin find me,” he grinned, tossing her the bag.

“You don’t need to make up excuses for that,” she said quietly, her eyes intense as she leaned on his shoulder, and suddenly it was too much for Jack. He didn’t want to see them all split up. Shitty off to Harvard, Providence for himself, and Lardo and Ransom and Holster all still here, still family, still together. And Bittle. Bitty. Dancing around the kitchen, baking pies for the new frogs, singing in the shower, holding hands with someone who wasn’t afraid of what it might mean. Someone who would know all his music, who would know the difference between apple cobbler and apple crisp, who tweeted and knew how to use Pinterest. Someone who would take him dancing, make him feel special. Someone who wasn’t Jack. 

He clamped his eyes shut, sudden nausea bringing the taste of stomach acid to the back of his throat, and he couldn’t stop the tremors that ran through his hands despite his measured breathing and forced immobility. He didn’t realize he was rocking until he felt a hand settle on his shoulder.

“Jack, bro,” that was all. Shitty didn’t need to ask. He had seen Jack do this often enough. 

Prying his eyes open he locked eyes with Shitty, in his periphery he saw Lardo still sitting there looking worried. “Don’t let go of each other,” he said, his voice shaking. “When we all go our separate ways, don’t let this get away from you, you’re too important, too special together. Stay just like this always. Please.”

“I was planning on it, bro,” Shitty said, squeezing Jack’s shoulder gently. “And it’s not like either of us is going that fucking far. We’ll all still see each other.”

“It won’t be the same,” Jack said, desperately.

“It won’t,” Lardo said. “But that doesn’t mean it has to be bad.”

“I’m going to miss you guys.”

“We’ll miss you too,” Shitty smiled. “But don’t you think that maybe you should be saying some of this shit to Bitty?”

Jack startled. He hadn’t realized anyone had noticed. His eyes went wide, and his breathing was coming in little choked off gasps. It was only the startled look on Lardo’s face that stopped him from hyperventilating.

“Bitty? Really?” she muttered, one eyebrow up as she rolled a joint and passed it to Shitty.

A quick glance at Jack to make sure he wasn’t going to object, and Shitty lit it, inhaling deeply before passing it back to Lardo. After a long moment he exhaled, sending the smoke out the open window, and mussed up Jack’s hair. “He hasn’t noticed, but I think you should tell him. He’s been miserable all night worried about you. I tried to get _him_ to come check on you, but he just kept saying it wasn’t his place. You know how he gets. There’ll probably be a half dozen pies by morning.” He paused and took the joint back from Lardo, who had been watching the conversation with unnervingly shrewd eyes. “On second thought, maybe you should wait till morning. I’m going to want those pies soon.” He waived the joint to make his point, then grunted as Lardo elbowed him to take it back.

Jack snorted, a bitter little sound that surprised him. “Hard to bake pies when you’re busy with tall, dark English majors,” he muttered.

“Who, Paul?” Shitty asked, sounding surprised. Jack shrugged. “Bro, he blew off Paul like ten fucking minutes into the party.”

Surprised, Jack frowned. “Then what was that banging coming from his room, eh?”

Shitty turned slightly pink, and that made Jack pause, his breathing coming a little easier. “Oh, umm, I might possibly have tripped into the wall outside his window while I was climbing onto the roof to come see you.”

“I keep trying to tell you not to try and scale the porch drunk,” Lardo muttered, patting Shitty’s knee. Then she flopped over boneless, dropping her head into Jack’s lap. “I know I shouldn’t get involved here, but, well…” she trailed off and frowned, upside down from Jack’s perspective, and slowly all the tension just melted out of his limbs, leaving him slightly lightheaded. “I’ll just say that if you really are interested in Bits you should say something to him. Don’t let something like that disappear into the realm of what-if.”

“But what if he doesn’t-“

“Jack,” she cut him off, “I love you, but take a leaf out of Nursey’s book and chill. Even if he doesn’t he’s not going to hate you for it. Besides, when I climbed in here he was sitting alone on his bed hugging that stuffed bunny he thinks none of us know about and looking like someone told him his pies were no good. I think he’d love some company right about now.”

Jack bit his lower lip, his pulse pounding in his temple and he looked towards the door briefly, then back to Shitty and Lardo.

“We’ll just see ourselves out, bro. Good luck.” And with that Shitty climbed back out of the window, holding out a hand to help Lardo over the sill. “Come on, Woodstock,” he said, grinning.

“What?” she exclaimed, but Shitty’s answer was cut off by the window sliding shut.

It was suddenly quiet in his room again, and Jack realized that Shitty was right. There was no noise coming from across the hall anymore. Not letting himself think too hard about what he was about to do, he slid off the bed and out of his room, crossing the hall in a couple of steps. It took him three tries to get his fist to actually connect with the door, and he almost didn’t hear the muffled call of “It’s open,” over the blood rushing in his ears.

The door creaked a little as he let himself in, closing the door gently behind him.

Bitty was sitting on his bed, legs curled up under himself and he looked so small and fragile, the last of Jack’s restraint snapped. He tried, he really did, but his willpower had never been all that good. Despite what most of the team, and the outside world, thought, willpower and work ethic were not mutually inclusive.

He was across the room in a heartbeat, daring to sit gingerly on the edge of Bitty’s bed, causing Bitty to glance up at him, all wide eyes, pink cheeks and fluttering eyelashes. Before he could stop himself he was carding his hand through Bitty’s carefully tousled hair, letting the fine strands sift through his fingers. Bitty shivered and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Jack felt the first stirrings of hope flitter through his chest.

“Jack?” he asked, molasses slow, all drawn out vowels and heavy southern lilt. Jack never wanted to hear his name any other way.

“I know,” he hedged, hand shaking slightly even as he continued to tug gently through Bitty’s hair. “I know that I’ve left it till late, but better late than never, eh?”

“Hmm?” Bitty hummed in question, eye still closed, head still leaned towards Jack’s hand.

Taking a deep breath Jack let it out slowly, and let his fingers slide down until he was cupping Bitty’s cheek. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you in here with Paul,” he muttered. That got Bitty to open his eyes and look at him, startled. “But then I realized that that would have been better than you in here alone and sad. You shouldn’t be sad.” Another long breath. “And you shouldn’t have to be alone.”

“Just not with Paul?” Bitty drawled, eyes sparkling, corners of his mouth tilted up. 

He was devastating, Jack realized. Briefly he wondered how he had managed to keep his distance as long as he had. Slowly, so very slowly, giving Bitty all the time in the world to pull away, he leaned down until when he spoke their lips were brushing ever so slightly. “Definitely not with Paul.” 

When he finally kissed Bitty, tasted his surprised gasp and chased it back into his mouth with his tongue, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as not kissing him had been. His pulse was slowed by the firm grip of Bitty’s hand on the back of his neck, his thoughts tripping to a stop when Bitty whimpered into his mouth. He pulled back with a small nip to Bitty’s bottom lip, and Bitty clung for a moment.

“Oh, um, gracious!” Bitty exclaimed with a delighted little smile, one hand playing with the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck, the other fisted in Jack’s tee-shirt.

“If you don’t mind,” Jack whispered, amazed at how easy it had been in the end.

“There ain’t nothing I mind less, Mr. Zimmermann.” And for that, Jack just had to kiss him again.


End file.
